


Subtext

by swooning



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M, Female Character In Command, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-21 20:51:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3704521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swooning/pseuds/swooning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zarek is Laura's bitch, so she decides to leave her mark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Subtext

Neither of them really knew how they had gotten there, how things had progressed to such a point. If someone had asked Laura Roslin five years ago, one year ago, even one month ago, what she thought of Tom Zarek, noted terrorist and the voice of anarchy, she would not have responded, "I think that he'd look damn good tied up in my bed." She would not have even thought such a thing.   
  
But the irrefutable fact was, he did look good tied up in her bed. He was facedown, and the tension on his arms, drawn up over his head and tethered firmly to the bed frame, pulled his sides taut and masked the tiny bit of middle-aged softness that would otherwise blur his waistline. Just as lying on his stomach hid the hint of a paunch.   
  
 _Only a hint, though,_ thought Laura smugly, as she studied the appealing picture Zarek presented.  _He really is in very good shape_ … Her mind paused a moment before adding the obligatory, though unfortunate … _for a man his age_.  
  
A faint sheen of sweat caught the light that fell across Zarek’s back, highlighting the firm crest of each buttock, the sleekly defined muscles that spanned his ribs and shoulders. Enough light, even, to see the faint but still visible evidence of Laura’s handprints, a blush of incongruously sweet pink along the meaty part of each of Zarek’s haunches.   
  
 _Fading_ , she noted with disapproval, and whacked him again several times in quick succession, bringing up the color on each cheek yet again.   
  
The groan her action elicited from him was the first noise either of them had made in well over a minute. A wild thought flew through the President’s brain, a fragment of long-ago advice,  _find a man you don’t mind just being quiet with_ , and she had to stifle a giggle.  _I somehow doubt this is what grandma meant by that_.  
  
Zarek moaned again, softly, working his hips against the mattress. Laura knew the position had to be uncomfortable, that the pressure on his erection was probably actively painful by this point. And she was growing tired of the game, she wanted to flip him over, sink down on him, and frak them both senseless… soon. Very soon.   
  
But before that, she wanted just one more element, one more round of the game. An idea worked its way to the fore, and she grinned. Zarek, had he been able to see this grin from his vantage point, might have become a bit nervous, although likely just more aroused. He loved this game, reveled in it, was already plotting how he could manipulate her into wanting to do it again. She would be reluctant at first, he knew – she didn’t like to think of herself as a dominatrix – but the wetness he felt where she sat straddling the backs of his thighs was surely a promising sign.   
  
“Don’t go anywhere,” she said suddenly – as if he could-- and rose from the bed, disappearing into her office for a moment. Zarek could hear a drawer sliding open, a rummaging sort of sound, the drawer closing again, and then her naked feet padding back to him.   
  
“Just a little something to remember me by,” she said, which was no explanation at all. She sat astride his legs again, and he felt her fingers tracing the skin at the top of one of his buttocks, just below where it met his back. She tugged gently, tightening the skin, and then he felt a new sensation. Something peculiar… a scratching.   
  
“Laura, what –“  
  
“Shh. Hold still, you’ll make me mess up.”  
  
“Are you…  _writing_  on me?”  
  
“Yes, Tom, as a matter of fact I am. Problem?” With the blunt end of the pen she nudged the still-tender flesh a few inches below her current canvas, a tacit reminder not to provoke her wrath.   
  
“No, ma’am,” he acquiesced. “May I ask what?”  
  
“I like how politely you framed your question, Tom,” she said in her best schoolteacher voice. “And… whoops, we don’t really need punctuation, do we? I’ll hide it in an extra little flourish at the end.” He could feel the pen’s tip swirl a little harder and deeper against his flesh, before she finally pulled it away. “There. Done.”  
  
“I don’t remember the last time someone wrote on me… I think it was some girl writing her number on my hand. I must’ve been a teenager.”  
  
Laura did giggle softly, then, her character slipping. “I used to write reminders on my hand all the time. When I first started working as an administrator, not a teacher, my boss told me I had to break the habit. It wasn’t professional…” Her voice trailed off, her eyes scanning over her recent handiwork without really seeing it. That wasn’t what this was meant to be about. Sharing their histories, learning about one another. None of that should be taking place. She could not afford to become  _friends_  with Tom Zarek.   
  
Impatiently, Laura flung the pen aside and leaned forward, untying the scarves that held Zarek captive. A few quick, economical motions of her hands and he was free, rolling over, still as hard and ready for her as he’d been when they started.   
  
“Frak me,” she said, not quite a command, but more than a request. They slid together easily, she was so wet, and he was too ready, clenching his teeth for self-control. As it happened, he didn’t need much. Foreplay of any kind usually did Laura in, and if she was going to come at all during the sex itself, she would do so almost immediately. This time was no exception, and Tom met her shuddering climax with his own, grabbing her hips and jerking deeper into her at the moment of his release.   
  
“Gods… Laura,” he muttered afterward, breathless, slowly relinquishing his grip. His hands fell to his sides, his energy seemingly spent.   
  
“Why so tired, Tom? I did all the work.” But she sounded smug, even as she said it. He opened his eyes to find her looking at him, wearing his favorite cat-who-ate-the-canary expression. It didn’t quite match the still-rapid breath and heartbeat, the flush that spread over her neck and chest, the signs that betrayed her recent loss of self-control.  
  
“You wear me out, woman,” he admitted. “Now, what did you write on my ass?” He made a move as if to push her off, to roll over and look, but it was a halfhearted effort. She leaned down, reclining against his chest, her tapered fingers playing idly through the hairs there.   
  
“Since your ass is mine, I thought I’d label it as such,” she said casually, and then laughed aloud when Tom really did roll her away in a single swift motion, sitting up and craning his neck around to try to see what she’d written.   
  
“What’s… I can’t see it, you wrote it on top of the tiger.” For indeed, a full-color tattoo of a tiger graced most of one hip and half Zarek’s back on that side. On the other side, a dragon. And elsewhere, as Laura had discovered, an exploding building, excerpts from various anarchist manifestos – all on beautifully detailed scrolls – and even the word “Mom” on a ribbon draped across a heart. He said a lot, even with his mouth shut, did Zarek.   
  
“Not on top of the tiger,” she corrected him, her smug smile returning. “In the crook of his tail. I wouldn’t want to sully a work of art.”  
  
“Don’t be a snob.”  
  
She ignored him, leaned over and pressed her lips firmly against the text she’d written, punctuating each word with a kiss as she read it aloud. “Property… of… Laura... Roslin.”  
  
“I’ll get that inked on permanently if you’ll get one, too.”  
  
Her eyes flicked up to meet his, hearing the genuine challenge behind the amusement, beneath the irony. “Ah… I don’t think so, Mr. Zarek.” You cannot afford to become friends with this man.  
  
“Chicken.”  
  
“Of the press? Damn straight. You should be, too.”  
  
“Nah. I know a guy, he’s very talented and very discreet. But you’d still be too chicken.” Zarek stretched, his muscles and bones popping and snapping as they realigned themselves. “I’m gonna take a shower before I go. You coming?” There was no hidden agenda, no double entendre. He asked matter-of-factly, affectionately … like a friend.   
  
“No, I’ll take one later.”  
  
“You sure?” He was already halfway towards the tiny head. “last chance to see your label on my butt before I scrub it off.”  
  
“Have a good shower, Mr. Zarek.”  
  
He paused at the door, half in and half out, looking back at her with an expression she couldn’t read. “Laura…”  
  
“What, Tom?”  
  
He didn’t answer right away, just consumed her with his eyes as she sat, naked, in the tumble of sheets they’d created on the bed. At last he shook his head, as though trying to clear it. “Nothing. I’m taking a shower.”  
  
And he disappeared into the head, closing the door behind him. 


End file.
